


A Rainbow Russian

by vulnerable_bead



Series: From Russia, because of love [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Sankt Petersburg architecture, Victor's haiku, farewell to Sankt Petersburg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 09:05:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13994982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulnerable_bead/pseuds/vulnerable_bead
Summary: A rainbow stands over one of Sankt Petersburg's most iconic churches. Onion domes glitter and Victor comes to a realisation.





	A Rainbow Russian

**Author's Note:**

  * For [joolita](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=joolita).



> This vignette belongs towards the end of Chapter 11 of "Gains and Losses", during Victor and Yuri's last days in Sankt Petersburg.

The brief spring rain caught us near Mikhaylovsky Square. We went for a coffee to wait it out. As we exit the café, the sun is out again and the city glitters as if had been conjured out of pure light just a minute ago.

We stroll towards the canal and onto the iron footbridge. The Church on Spilled Blood rises down the canal from us. Its garish excess is so dreadful that it is actually touching. I prefer the Neoclassical style, it is far more elegant, but in this light the _sobor_ looks excitingly exotic even to me, who grew up in this city; a thing out of fabulous past. Which is exactly how it was intended to look like.  

We stop in the middle of the bridge. Small rippling waves dance on the water, sparkling like shoals of fish. From where we stand, we can see three domes in vibrant colours and one pure gold. I take a deep breath. There is a chill on the air, but I am not in a hurry to go. This may be the last time I’m seeing my city in such glory.

‘Will you not miss this?’ asks Yuri quietly, his eyes on the gleaming dome.

‘I will,’ I answer truthfully, already anticipating the ache. ‘Perhaps not every day of my life, but yes, I will. But I’m ready for it. I won’t be the first Russian to do so.’

We are a nation of émigrés, after all, and not always for the reasons of money.

The sky above the domes begins to alter, as if their hues had thrown a reflection on the pale-blue expanse, and soon a huge rainbow is hanging over the church. Passers-by begin to stop on the bridge, pointing, shouting out their awe. I share the sentiment. I have never seen a rainbow this clear.

Suddenly, as I gaze at the shimmering arch, a thought comes to my mind and I begin to laugh. Yuri throws me an inquiring glance.

‘I was born too late to be a White Russian,’ I explain. ‘With my convictions, I could never be a Red Russian. So I went and made myself a Rainbow Russian.’

He looks at me, gets my meaning and begins to laugh, too, shaking his head.

‘Those puns of yours will get you arrested one day, and rightly.’

‘Come off it, you’d defend me if they came for me at dawn.’

‘I’d be the first to lock the shackles round your wrists.’

I raise an eyebrow.

‘Now _that_ ’s a thought.’

We keep looking at the rainbow-framed _sobor_ , the mood irrevocably altered, although the realisation is sad. I have no way of knowing how many of the recent émigrés from Russia and other actively homophobic states of the former USSR and the Eastern bloc are gays, but it must be a significant percentage.

Not long ago I thought that one day I would have to _fight_ to keep Yuri by my side. But life has played a trick on me and now I know I must _yield_ to keep him – safe. I am aware that the outcry will be considerable, to put it mildly. Even the gay community will resent my move; I am, relatively speaking, rich, I can afford to seek my fortune elsewhere. I will survive, easily. Not all émigrés are so privileged.

And there are those, of course, who will call me a traitor.

Let them.

To me, all the beauty and grandeur of Russia are not worth one hair off this raven head.  

‘Rain in springtime. Rainbow above my city. I make a choice,’ I say casually.

He ponders this in silence. Then he nods his approval.

‘The images are fitting. The syllable count is European, though.’

My God, how I love him for his indirectness. And for the fact that I can be one hundred percent sure he both understands and appreciates the reasons behind my attempt at a haiku.

‘Don’t worry, Yuri,’ I conclude. ‘This is what I want.’ Discreetly, shielding us with my body, I take his hand and kiss it. ‘And the greatest treasure Russia holds, I am taking with me. For it does not belong to her.’

He briefly leans his cheek against my shoulder.

‘No. It belongs to you.’

**Author's Note:**

> Victor’s remark about ‘them’ coming for him at dawn refers to the days of Stalinist terror, when the OGPU/NKVD’s ‘chernyi voron’ (Black Maria, literally: black raven) usually came in the early hours of the morning; and then the family would often never see their loved one again. Yuri doesn’t know this and that’s why his answer is so flippant. But this is all right with Victor, he is not being entirely serious, either.  
> ***  
> Besides, no-one could defend you if they came for you at dawn.


End file.
